


Acceptance

by Unforth



Series: Tumblr Ficlets: Supernatural [4]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angel Castiel (Supernatural), Genderfluid Dean, Internalized Homophobia, John Winchester's A+ Parenting, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-04-21
Updated: 2017-04-21
Packaged: 2018-10-22 08:09:21
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 716
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10693029
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Unforth/pseuds/Unforth
Summary: Tumblr ficlet written to the prompt: I think about genderfluid Dean all the time and how Cas might help Dean accept that not everything is black and white--after all, Cas doesn't really get gender anyway.





	Acceptance

**Author's Note:**

> A couple days the last few weeks, I've taken prompts for short fics and written and posted them on Tumblr. I wanted to post them on AO3 as well but have been considering how best to do so. A quick survey of my subscribers and followers suggests that people would prefer if I post them all as individual stories and put them in a series together instead of as multiple chapters on the same file or any other of several options, so that's what I'm doing.
> 
> Please note that I generally do not take "out of nowhere" prompts, cause I don't have time, but I will sometimes ask people to send me ideas and I'll write them in the order I receive them. 
> 
> You can follow me on Tumblr at [unforth-ninawaters](unforth-ninawaters.tumblr.com).
> 
> Make sure you read the prompt! 
> 
> [~original post~](http://unforth-ninawaters.tumblr.com/post/159839056923/i-think-about-genderfluid-dean-all-the-time-and)
> 
> Prompt, from anonymous:  
> I think about genderfluid Dean all the time and how Cas might help Dean accept that not everything is black and white--after all, Cas doesn't really get gender anyway. It's not that he's all 'accepting' like Dean imagines Sam would be, it's that it genuinely doesn't matter to him. Half the time, Cas doesn't even notice that Dean isn't abiding by the strict gender rules society imposes, and just asks if he can have sparkly toenails too. I want my soft genderfluid baby to be able to self express

It was been tough for Dean, ya know? As he was brought up, being “A Man” was important, and yeah, it was about having a dick - of _course_  having a dick automatically made someone a man, that wasn’t a question for John Winchester and therefore couldn’t be a question for Dean - but it was also about so much more than that. A dick was a given, automatic, but a dick _alone_  didn’t make someone A Man, no, masculinity had to be performed, demonstrated, continually reinforced, to guarantee that no one ever, _ever_  doubted that a man was A Man. The jacket, the boots, the car, the music, “no chick flick moments,” no crying, no pain, no vulnerability, no _love_ , it was all part and parcel, the whole John Winchester “two for one raise your sons right” special.

After weeks of tentative touches and soulful glances and glancing kisses that promised so much but delivered only crushing dissatisfaction because there was no amount of gentle caressing that could fill the hole that Dean had torn in himself to meet his father’s expectations, the first trial had been saying, “Castiel, I love you.”

After months together, months of being A Man in his relationship with Castiel, clinging to the tatters of his masculinity, heeding the voice of his father growling in his head that if he’s going to be a _damn sissy_  then he’s going to be a _damn sissy_  who fucks, not who gets fucked, the second trial had been asking Castiel to top for him.

After a year of moaning climaxes and bliss so powerful that Dean’s vision whited out every time Castiel was inside him, the third trial had been admitting _why_  he wanted to bottom.

Every time, every confession, the most frightening part, the part Dean dreaded, was Castiel’s reaction.

Not that Castiel would condemn him.

Dean knew that Cas would never, _ever_  do that.

No, Castiel’s endless font of understanding, the confused way he’d quirk his head as if it had never _occurred_  to him that what Dean was hung up on might be a hang up? _That_  was agony. Castiel understood, on the surface, because Castiel understood _all_  of Dean, had put Dean back together atom by atom and memory by memory. But Castiel didn’t _understand_  .

Castiel had said he loved Dean. For Castiel, love was what an angel had for God: absolute, unwavering, eternal, beautiful and terrifying and undeniable. That love meant that Dean could announce one day he was a damn _petunia_  and Castiel would be fine with it.

But Dean _wanted_  Castiel to understand why this was so hard for him. It wasn’t enough that Castiel _accepted_  that Dean wanted to bottom, that sometimes Dean wasn’t comfortable having his cock touched, that sometimes Dean wanted to be called _sweetie_  and that he wanted to wear women’s underwear because of how _beautiful_  it made him feel. _Acceptance_  meant that when Dean put nail polish on his toenails but shied from putting it on his hands, Castiel didn’t understand why that was a problem, couldn’t comprehend what form of support Dean needed to reach the point where he could bring himself to wear nail polish on his nails in public, because Dean hadn’t told him.

Dean _had_  to tell him.

It took time, God, it took _forever_ , like leaching poison from a damn Djinn bite and even less fun. Word by word, sentence by sentence, story by story, Dean told Castiel _why_  he was afraid to be caught with panties, _why_ he could only put the nail polish on from stolen bottles sneaked into Walmart bathrooms and left there as soon as finished, _why_ he knew _exactly_  which brand and color number matched his eyelashes _identically_ because that was the only way he could wear mascara and feel the thickness and weight of his lashes and feel like _himself_  for an hour or two. 

Castiel listened.

And Castiel brought him mascara.

And Castiel helped him apply it.

And Castiel drew the panties down his thighs, and sucked on his nail polished fingers, and called him sweetie, and called him _beautiful_.

And slowly, infinitesimally slowly, Dean became who he’d been born to be, the _person_  that John’s eternal, incessant insistence on Dean being A Man had, Dean feared, killed.

Dean became themself.


End file.
